Page 121 of One Week in Paris
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IRACE HOME TO CHANGE. I’m wearing leggings and an oversized sweater but that just won’t do for a proposal. I want to do this right.
I rummage through my closet and search for my sexiest pieces. I settle on a long black dress, stiletto heeled suede boots and my red jacket with the oversized black buttons. I pull my ponytail out and wear my long hair down because he loves it that way. I touch up my make-up and dab on some red lipstick. My hands are trembling as I drop the velvet box in my coat pocket.
I zoom down the road, careful not to go too fast. The last thing I need right now is a speeding ticket. I park not too far from the coffee shop where he works. As I head over, my legs are wobbly and walking is a bit of a challenge. Who knew your legs could shake when you’re nervous?
My pulse races as I venture into the coffee shop. There he is, at the counter, chatting with a customer; a tiny elderly man. I stand motionless, and study him. If all goes well, this is the man I will spend the rest of my life with, the father of my children, the person by my side. I realize how lucky I am to have found such a beautiful person, inside and out. A man who adores me as much as I adore him. Someone who won’t let me down. A man who will keep me excited about life for the rest of my days.
He finally spots me, and smiles even wider. “Kayla!” he blurts out and rounds the counter. “What are you doing here? You hardly ever come by. You look freakin’ amazing.”
I smile. “Well, today is a special day.”
He cocks a brow. “What? Did I forget something important? It’s not your birthday yet.”
I drop on one knee, right there, in front of everyone. Oscar looks at me with a confused expression. I pull out the velvet box and quickly pop the lid open. I’m literally shaking in my boots as I present it to him.
His mouth drops to the floor. “What?”
“Oscar Cohen,” I say, and my voice cracks a little. “W-will you marry me?”
Hoots and hollers break out. The crowd is loud. Whoo-hoos all around. “Do it!” I hear a man call out. “She’s hot as hell.”
We both turn to the crowd, laughing.
“Do it,” the small elderly man yells out. “Grab her while you can. Oh, if I were your age, Oscar.”
Oscar is speechless, motionless. I’ve never seen him like this. My fragile heart pounds harder. What if he doesn’t want me? What if he’s changed his mind? What if I don’t get to spend the rest of my life with him? What if I’ve just completely embarrassed myself in front of all these people?”
He falls to his knees without words. He grabs me in his arms. “Of course, I will,” he cries into my shoulder. “This is the happiest moment of my life, Kayla.”
I burst into tears, tears full of happy. “Me too.”
The roar of the crowd is loud as they whoo and clap. Oscar and I are both kneeling on the floor, in tears. I don’t know about him but I’m a little embarrassed. I never thought I’d be bold enough to do something like this, but Oscar always brings out the bold in me.
He finally pulls from me. “I’m going to make you the happiest woman in the world,” he promises.
I pull the ring from its box. “I know you will.”
He stretches out his arm, presents me his hand, and smirks for good measure.
I smile as I slip the ring on his finger — it fits perfectly. We grin at each other, and as he stands, he pulls me up with him and hugs me again. The crowd roars once more. We smile and wave at them like we’re Meghan and Harry. I blush at the sight of them all.
“Don’t move an inch,” he says as he reaches for the wallet he keeps in his back pocket. A huge smile splits his face in two as he eagerly digs into it and pulls out my ring, the very same one he was going to give me in Paris.
I get giddy at the sight of it, and bounce up on my heels. “I can’t believe you’ve had it all this time, in your wallet.”
He smiles. “Of course I did. You had to know I’d give it another shot.”
He falls to his knees again and takes my hand. “I promise to be everything you deserve, Kayla… every single day.” He slips the ring tenderly on my finger, and in that moment, I know, without a doubt, that I’ve made the right decision. The crowd cheers and hollers once again.
A small elderly woman tears herself from the crowd. She approaches us slowly and takes my hand in hers. Her hand is cold and frail. “You take good care of him,” she tells me. “You’ve got yourself quite a prize there,” she adds with a sweet smile. “Oscar is a wonderful person.”
“I know,” I agree. “I will… take good care of him.”
“And he’ll take good care of you, I’m sure.”
“Oh, he will.”
